Deluge
by snarkhunter
Summary: We can drown in more than just water. ONE-PART STORY.


Deluge

Summary: We can drown in more than just water. Woody tries to keep Jordan afloat. 

Disclaimer: Right. Sure. If I owned them, you would be seeing this on screen.

Author's note: Thanks to Kyllikki for Drunken!Beta. ("except he's undressing, not dressing ... hm. too drunk to figure this out.") and for, as usual, taming my wild adverbs.

Soon-to-be AU, but picks up right where "Secrets & Lies, Part II" left off. 

***

Woody stared at the empty doorway, stunned into inanity at Jordan's abrupt departure. 

__

She didn't lock the door, he thought. For some reason, it seemed immensely important at that moment.

He started to follow her out into the rain, when practicality and common sense reared their sensible Midwestern heads, and he froze, hesitating.

__

Don't be a fool. You can't follow her. She doesn't want your help. She'll only break your heart.

He shook his head and bolted from the apartment, running pell-mell down the steps into the pouring rain. Somewhere between the couch and the front door, practicality and common sense retreated to the darkest corners of his mind, beaten into submission by the memory of Jordan's face. If he didn't follow her out that door, he might never see her again. And that he couldn't accept.

The street seemed deserted, but then he saw her half a block away, standing motionless in the downpour. When he reached her side, she dodged as though looking to bolt again, but he grabbed hold of her upper arms, shaking her slightly.

"I'm not going to let you do this!" he shouted, holding her fast despite her attempts to get away. "You're not going throw your life away over this!"

"Damn it, Woody, let me go!" Jordan cried, dropping her bag and trying to force his arms down from hers. "I'm not worth the effort."

Tears rose to his eyes at that, and he pulled her, struggling, into his embrace. She snarled semi-coherent epithets and struck out at him, but he barely felt the ineffectual blows. He simply held her until her fingers unclenched from fists and clutched at his shirt instead, and her body sagged against him, shaken with her sobs. Only then did he ease his embrace, holding her against him with one arm and carrying her bag in the other as he half-led, half-carried her back to her building.

She was shivering by the time he got her into her apartment, and once he had set down her bag and helped her out of her coat, his banished common sense returned abruptly.

"We need to get you out of those wet clothes," he said. 

Jordan looked up at him with a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Is that an invitation?"

Woody felt himself blush and shook his head. "C'mon, Jordan. I don't want you to catch cold." 

He led her to the bathroom and handed her the bathrobe he found hanging beside the door. "Put this on."

She accepted the robe and he left her alone, closing the door just enough to allow her some privacy. He sat down on Jordan's bed and waited. When several minutes ticked by, and still she didn't emerge, he went and tapped on the door.

"Jordan? Can I come in?"

No answer.

Drawing a deep breath, he pushed the door open. She was standing in the middle of the room, shivering, the bathrobe puddled around her feet. She did not acknowledge his entrance, a fact that frightened him almost as much as the unevenly shattered mirror above the sink.

"Jordan!" Woody exploded, crossing over to her in one swift step. "Damn it, you're going to catch pneumonia."

No response. He closed his eyes, uncertain how to deal with a catatonic Jordan. Finally, he reached out and pulled her shirt over her head. She made no move to stop him or to help him; it was like undressing a sleeping child.

__

No, not at all like a child, Woody thought as he draped her shirt over the shower rod. He rejected his sudden impulse to close his eyes and give her privacy, since he couldn't very well get her out of her wet clothes if he couldn't see her at all. Despite his determination to get through this without acknowledging his own desire, his hands shook as he unhooked her bra, and beneath his overwhelming concern he felt a faint disappointment that he could see her like this and yet have her be so vulnerable, so impossible to reach. 

It took some maneuvering and cajoling, but he finally managed to the rest of her clothes off and get her covered in the terry-cloth robe. Relieved to have her clothed, temporarily eliminating the temptation he felt, he took her hand and led her back to the bedroom, carrying a towel in his other hand. She still hadn't spoken and barely reacted to his touch, and Woody couldn't help but wonder whether it was really that she had somehow shut down, or if she was simply so furious with him that she wouldn't speak.

He sat her down on the edge of the bed, then crawled up behind her. He began drying her sopping hair, rubbing her scalp down briskly with the towel. When he was satisfied that her hair was dry enough not to drip on the pillows, he laid her down and tucked her in the covers.

Only then did he notice that he, too, was soaking wet. 

"Bottom drawer," Jordan mumbled.

"What?" 

  
She was watching him, that faint smile back on her face. "Some clothes that should fit you. Bottom drawer. They're way too big for me." 

Woody nodded mutely, not asking about the clothes. He didn't really want to know. He ducked into the bathroom and changed quickly, not wanting to leave her alone any longer than was necessary. The sweat pants and t-shirt did fit, though the latter was a bit tight, but they were warm and dry. 

When he came out, she was curled on her side, still shivering. He hesitated, not sure if he should try to warm her himself, or just let her be. He decided on the latter, heading to the living room to bring a chair back to the bedroom, when her voice stopped him. 

"Don't leave." 

He turned around; she was looking over her shoulder, her eyes wide and her face slightly desperate.

"I'm not," he said gently. "I was just going to get a chair." 

Jordan shook her head. "Just come here," she said. "I'm cold."

Woody swallowed nervously and went back to her, curling up beside her on the bed. He pulled her against him so that her head rested on the curve of his shoulder, and again felt that hesitation born of his frustrated desire. They were silent for several long minutes, and Jordan's shivering slowly began to subside. 

"Thanks," she whispered.

He didn't say anything—just brushed a kiss across the top of her head and pulled her a little closer. Some time later, the evenness of her breathing told him that she had fallen asleep. Woody rested his cheek against her damp hair and stared blankly at the wall across from the bed. He knew he would not sleep that night, not with her body in his arms and the fear haunting his mind that she would be gone when he woke. 

He knew her. And there was no way he was giving her the chance to slip out on him. Not tonight, and, if there were any way he could prevent it, maybe not ever again.


End file.
